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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22653142">vissi d'arte, vissi d'amore</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/blood_and_gore/pseuds/blood_and_gore'>blood_and_gore</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Critical Role (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Mollymauk Tealeaf Lives, Resurrection, Temporary Character Death, Trauma</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 14:22:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>318</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22653142</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/blood_and_gore/pseuds/blood_and_gore</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>For a second time, Mollymauk awakens in a grave.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>vissi d'arte, vissi d'amore</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title from "Vissi d'arte, Vissi d'amore" from the opera Tosca. I have no idea where i'm going with this fic. Updates will be sporadic.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For a second time, Mollymauk awakens in a grave.</p><p>There's dirt in his mouth and maybe his lungs; he tries to turn, to flail, creating space. It's like swimming, and he breaks the surface of the earth with enough resistance to hurt. The air's cold and brisk, smelling of rain- early spring? He doesn't know. All he knows is that there was a glaive in his chest where there now seems to be another scar.</p><p>He surveys the space around him. His coat- his beautiful tapestry in the guise of a garment that he'd loved, carried like a home- rests faded and waterlogged on a stick. There's a piece of paper with words long since faded; he can barely make out Jester's name.</p><p>He nearly huffs out a laugh, but his voice hurts from disuse.</p><p>He walks on.</p><p>.</p><p>There are memories in his head that aren't quite his. A voice, urging survival above all. (Not that that means anything, without his blades and without his friends. There are four gold coins in the back pocket of his pants. His tarot cards, his bag, everything is gone.) The voice is cruel, saying things like <em>they abandoned you here</em> and <em>they've forgotten you by now</em>. He supposes those things could be true. He supposes that the voice is the former inhabitant of this body; when he mentally articulates the words <em>Lucien, shut up</em> the voice does so for a good fifteen minutes. That's good enough for him.</p><p>.</p><p>When he reaches the nearest town, and an attempt at memory <em>(the dwarven woman, the slavers, dying)</em> it takes him a moment to decide what to do, where to go. He's not hungry, though perhaps he should be- wasn't it winter when he died? How long has it been since he had a meal, a drink?</p><p>But if there's anything Molly's good at, it's conning people into feeding him. He enters the tavern.</p>
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